"What are we going to do?" Robin asked, kneeling down next to the bow railing. "It would be suicide to jump overboard."
"They'll be back." He looked at the bridge. "They were trying to get someone to the ship's controls, but he succumbed."
"Why would they leave us?"
He took a quick breath before another plume of cold water rained down. "Low fuel maybe, but they had to get another person to help us."
She shivered and her teeth began chattering. "Can we survive if… if the ship runs aground at this speed?"
"Robin, the coast guard is going to be back. They aren't going to abandon us, trust me."
"I hope you're right."
"I am right."
Dr. Woodbury had doubts about the outcome, but he couldn't show any anxiety. Fear could turn to panic, and panic would sweep away logic and judgment. This was the time to demonstrate no emotion except calm and confidence.
"Just keep your faith," he said firmly, and then peeked over the bow railing. What he saw made his blood run cold.
She saw his eyes grow large. "What is it?"
He swallowed and started to answer as she rose to look over the bow.
Robin gasped when she saw the tops of New York City's tallest skyscrapers rising above the haze layer.
After some initial confusion, Lieutenant McLain finally made contact with the E-2C Hawkeye. They handed him off to Commander Rosenbaum in the lead F/A-18 Hornet.
"Salty Dog Four-oh-six, coast guard Dolphin."
"Coast guard, Salty Four-oh-six."
McLain double-checked the time and keyed his radio. "Say your ETA over the QM Two."
"Ahh… looks like twelve, maybe thirteen minutes."
"Salty, we have two survivors on the ship."
"Say again."
"There are two survivors on the bow of the QM Two. We expect to be overhead in ten minutes."
"Roger… well back out of the throttle a tad."
"Copy."
Following vectors from the Hawkeye, Lieutenant Commander Bergman pushed the Dolphin to its limits while everyone searched for the ocean liner. The minutes were melting away when Petty Officer First Class Richard "Red" Bailey spotted the QM2. "Twelve o'clock, just coming out of the haze — kicking up some spray"
McLain keyed his radio. "Salty Dog Four-oh-six, coast guard Dolphin."
"Go Charlie Golf."
"We have the QM Two in sight, be overhead shortly."
"Roger, we're beginning our descent in one minute."
"Copy."
Commander Rosenbaum checked his fuel. "Ringleader, Salty Four-oh-six, do we have any air traffic in the area?"
"Negative, no contacts. The FAA is doing a great job of clearing the airspace around the ship."
With a click-click on the radio transmit button, Rosenbaum acknowledged the report. He glanced at his wingman. "Jon, you ready to start down?"
"Ready as I'll ever be, skipper," he replied in a guarded voice. "I cant believe we're doin this."
Rosenbaum paused to contemplate the unprecedented attack. "I can't either, partner. Just concentrate and put your ordnance on target. Can't afford to goon this up."
"Roger that."
Rosenbaum eased the Hornet's nose down. "Ringleader, Salty Four-oh-six is out of Flight Level three-five-zero."
"Copy, come port five degrees."
Click-click.
"Call visual on the target… uh, the ship."
"Will do. Any reports on the ceiling?"
"Stand by."
"Copy"
The mission systems operator was back in seconds. "Uh… the last we heard was approximately eight hundred feet, two miles visibility in haze and light rain."
"Okay. What do you show, Charlie Golf?"
"About the same."
Click-click. Rosenbaum felt the tension building and glanced at his wingman. "Not exactly perfect weather for bombing."
"At least no one will be shooting back."
"We cant assume that the way things are going this morning."
The senior Hawkeye crewman keyed his radio. "Salty, the rest of your troops are on the way, just off the tankers."
"Tell em to buster!"
"They have the pedal to the metal."
Click-click.
"Tuck it in tight," Rosenbaum said to his wingman, seconds before their Hornets entered the tops of an endless expanse of thick, dark clouds.
With his eyes locked on Rosenbaums plane a few feet away, Worthington was playing his stick and throttles like a violin. "Skipper, any closer and well have to take our jets to the paint-and-body shop."
Chapter 7
Listening to the fighter pilots and the Hawkeye controller, Bergman began slowing the helicopter and aligning it with the bow of the ship. He and McLain could see the look of exhilaration on the faces of the young couple.
Red Bailey positioned the basket and secured the line from the hoist. The basket was the preferred method of lifting civilians because it allowed for the least amount of risk in an otherwise risky situation.
Bergman maneuvered the Dolphin over the bow as it plunged through the waves. Stabilizing the helicopter over the frightened couple, flight mechanic Earl Nogart began lowering Bailey in the basket. When the veteran PJ reached the deck, he jumped out. Bailey assisted Pace and Robin Woodbury into the basket. He seated them and then gave Nogart the signal to begin hoisting the couple. Suddenly, something didnt seem right. Bailey looked up at the same instant the hoist stopped. The basket was hanging twelve feet below the Dolphin, not going up or coming down. Paralyzed with fear, the doctor and his wife looked to Bailey for help.
Nogart tried everything he could to free the cable. It was no use. The hoist had malfunctioned and jammed.
"Sir, it s stuck!"
"What?" Bergman asked.
"The hoist is broken, wont go in either direction!"
Bergman looked to the north and saw the western end of Fire Island. He made a calculated decision and added power. "Well take them to shore and return for Red."
The Dolphin gathered speed, but Bergman couldnt go too fast with the rescue basket swinging underneath the helicopter. The shocked couple gripped the sides of the basket and leaned toward each other. Neither dared look over the side at the cold, angry sea.
Bailey knew what his pilot was doing, but he was concerned about the inbound fighters. Warm and comfortable in his wet suit, he sat down and waited for the carrier-based Hornets to appear.
Bergman swore under his breath and keyed the radio. "Salty Dog Four-oh-six, coast guard Dolphin."
"Charlie Golf, Salty Four-oh-six."
From the sound of Bergmans voice, Rosenbaum sensed trouble.
"Salty, we have a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
Bergman explained the situation and estimated that he would be able to retrieve his PJ in approximately twelve to fifteen minutes.
Waiting to break out of the clouds, Rosenbaum glanced at his altimeter. "Okay, but we dont have much time."
"Roger that."
"Ringleader, Salty Four-oh-six, how are we looking?"
"Target — uh, the ship is eleven-thirty, thirty-three miles."
"Salty Four-oh-six." Rosenbaum again checked his altimeter as the jets descended through 7,000 feet at 1,500 feet a minute. "Salty Two, did you copy Charlie Golf?"
"That's affirmative."
"Okay, time is critical. Were going to strafe the ship until the helo returns, maybe punch a few holes near the waterline."
Worthington concentrated on flying in tight formation. "What about the rescue swimmer?"
"He's safe on the bow, no problem with him," Rosenbaum said, as the fighters passed 6,300 feet. "Were going to work on the stern, port side, nice and clean."
"Copy: stern, port side."
Click-click.
Each Hornet was fitted with a powerful M-61 rotary cannon mounted inside the nose of the aircraft. Equipped with six barrels, the Gatling gun could pour twenty-millimeter shells into a target at the rate of 6,000 rounds per minute. However, the gun carried only 568 rounds, requiring the pilot to shoot in short, accurate bursts.